


all roads they lead me here

by 1000_directions



Category: The Last Full Measure (2019)
Genre: 1990s, F/M, Letters, Nostalgia, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Scott never used to run, but shit, there’s a lot of stuff he never used to do. More and more, he’s spending his thirties watching himself turn into someone unrecognizable, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that.
Relationships: Scott Huffman/Tara Huffman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	all roads they lead me here

**Author's Note:**

> This was hastily written after one viewing of _The Last Full Measure_. I wanted to spend some time thinking about the character outside of his purpose in the film. Contains very mild spoilers for the movie, as well as references to death, specifically dead military personnel and parents losing a child.

It’s a little after midnight, and Scott Huffman is thinking about letters.

He never had problems sleeping, not really. But these last several months, it’s like his head just won’t turn off anymore. And Tara’s mostly an easygoing woman, which is one of the things he’d always found most attractive about her, but she’s seven months pregnant now, and she gets a little feisty if he wakes her up with too much tossing and turning.

So after staring at the digital clock for two hours, watching it placidly blink its red numbers at him, taunting him with the endlessness of the night and his inability to sleep through it, he finally got up and changed into sweatpants and decided to go for a run. He never used to run, but shit, there’s a lot of stuff he never used to do. More and more, he’s spending his thirties watching himself turn into someone unrecognizable, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that.

His feet hit the pavement, dried leaves crushed under the soles of his Nikes. When he runs during the day, he brings a small Sony radio on an armband, and he listens to talk radio. He used to listen to the soft rock station, because it reminded him of being in high school, reminded him of kissing Jeannie Keller in the last row of the AMC on their first date, reminded him of trying to get his hands under her sweater on their fifth. She’d protested just a little before letting him, just enough so that he wouldn’t think she was easy, and he remembers how important he’d felt in that moment. It’s crazy how the things that felt so high-stakes when he was a teenager have become so insignificant with the passing of time.

He stopped listening to that station when he heard a pretty new intern at the office making fun of it, calling it music for old people. And he doesn’t know why it matters so much to him, whether or not that girl thinks he’s cool. He’s married, and he has one kid already and another on the way, and he and Tara are settled, and he’s not going to do anything to fuck that up. He’s not looking to have an affair with any of the interns, even if it would be easy and no one would ever know, even if sometimes they look at him like maybe they’d be interested. He’s not that guy, and he’s not gonna do it, but he doesn’t mind so much if they think about him that way.

Scott doesn’t listen to anything at all when he runs at night, just the sound of himself moving through space, the quiet breathing noises he makes. He’s not listening to anything, and he’s thinking about _letters_.

He’d had a penpal back in grade school. Paula something. Shit, he hasn’t thought about her in years. One of these days, without even realizing it, he’ll never think about her again. But back then, what was he, eight years old? Ten? It was for school, just an excuse to practice penmanship. They all got matched up with kids from a school in Terre Haute, and they’d write letters about what sports they played on the weekends, or what TV shows they liked to watch after school, or what the names of their dogs and hamsters were. He remembers writing to her every few weeks, and he remembers how exciting it was to get mail with his name on it. And it went on and on for months, and then eventually, it just stopped, and he doesn’t remember why. Did he forget to write back, or did she get bored, or was it summer vacation and he just lost track of it? It was so exciting and important, and then it was over forever.

It was wild back then, imagining a letter in his hand crossing so many state lines to end up in Paula’s. He would touch her swirly script sometimes, and he would marvel at the idea that it had been written so far away, that his fingers were touching the same place that her fingers had been before. A person he’d never met or seen, but they were sharing that experience over all those miles. It’s the same thing he felt the first time he saw a fax machine, or sent an email. It’s just _wild_. They take it for granted these days. Connection. Bringing faraway people together. It’s ordinary, and it shouldn’t be. Christ, he can’t remember the last time he bought a stamp.

He remembers a story someone told him once, about soldiers sending home letters before they died. And sometimes the news of their death got home first, but sometimes it was the letters. And loved ones would open them and read the words of their lover or their son, and they would feel so close and comforted, and they wouldn’t even know he was already dead and gone. And in those moments, it was like death wasn’t even real. Like a person could live forever if the people who loved him just never, ever forgot about him.

Scott is spending too much time lately thinking about dead soldiers. He _knows_ this. He has other priorities, like his actual job. Like his actual, beautiful wife. Like the son he has now and the daughter on the way. His life is full of people who are still here and unruined, with nothing but possibility in front of them, but he keeps getting lost inside his head, somewhere in the past.

Sometimes, when he sits with the Pitsenbargers, when he goes into their home and sees Bill’s room, perfectly preserved like he hasn’t been dead for three decades, he wants to throw up. He doesn’t understand how they just _live_ after something like that. If anything ever happened to Luke, he would burn the world to the ground, and every time Mr. Pitsenbarger laughs or smiles at anything, it doesn’t make any sense. They’re good people, and Scott wants to help them, but being around them makes him feel so dumb and helpless. Bill’s dead, no matter what, and his dad’s not far behind, and he can’t _do_ anything to fix that. All he can do is _this_ , this Medal of Honor review, and he can’t even do this much right. Jesus.

Scott met Tara when he was twenty, and it was the first time he ever felt like anyone really loved him. Like, _really_ really loved him. And he knew he was going to marry her right away, knew he was going to keep her forever and build a family with her. And he tries to be the husband and the father that his old man never was, and sometimes, he thinks he’s doing okay. But other times, he feels like such a goddamn fraud and failure that he can’t understand why she doesn’t just take Luke and leave. He’s never home. He’s never fucking _home_ , and even when he is, he’s still sleeping or working, his brain is still somewhere else.

She deserves better than that. He still remembers the first time he kissed her, when he took her face in his hands, and he couldn’t believe how small she seemed and how massive he felt. And he just held her there for so long he couldn’t stand it, but then she went up on her tiptoes and pushed her mouth into his, and he was so startled and relieved and grateful that he felt like he was going to cry all over her. She’s always been like that. Closing the gap. She always meets him where he is and does the things that he can’t do. He doesn’t deserve her, but Christ, he fucking loves her.

He’s getting a new job. One way or another, the job he has is disappearing, and he will be working somewhere else. He will get this Medal sorted out before Frank Pitsenbarger dies, and their daughter will be born, and he will be reborn through her. Someday, someday, someday. He’s always bargaining with himself, promising himself that this is the time it will stick, this is the time that he’ll be _better_.

One of these days, it has to be true.

When he gets home, he slips off his running shoes, leaves them by the mudroom door on top of some grocery bags so he doesn’t track dirt everywhere. He paces through the kitchen in his socked feet, filling up a glass of water from the tap and drinking it right there in three gulps. It’s the middle of the night, but he’s still not tired.

He walks into his study, and he sits down at his desk. In one of his drawers, he finds a yellow legal pad that still has most of its pages. In another drawer, he finds a fountain pen that an aunt had sent him as a college graduation gift.

Scott closes his eyes, breathing in and back out again. And then he opens his eyes, and he writes his wife a love letter.


End file.
